the sleppys

Why is evolution the only “scientific” principle that needs laws to protect it?

We don’t need court cases to protect the Law of Gravity.

That footprint is perfectly human! But because humans didn’t evolve 3.6 million years ago, it clearly wasn’t human. So we’ll draw “Lucy’s” foot just as a humans’ even though we don’t have her foot bones.

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/evolution/library/07/1/l_071_03.html

http://www.themoneytimes.com/node/118422

Fossils don’t come with hair. Evo-artists put the hair where they want it. They draw the nose and ears and eyes how they want them to look, always to lead the observer to believe that evolution is real. They sculpt the wax to give this animal a facial expression of wonder or concern.

Tinkerbell will get well if you clap your hands!

Science is supposed to bring truth. Evolution brings myth.

Funny how liberals like to use the terms “ignorant” and “close-minded” when describing conservatives, while they won’t even hear a conservative’s argument.

Then again, I’d rather be close-minded than open-minded. An open mind accepts all ideas and tolerates the intolerable. A closed mind is established, steady, and predictable.

As for being ignorant, I don’t claim that I know everything about everything; I’ve yet to meet a person who does. So, yea, I guess I am ignorant. I ask for documentation that supports a liberal idea, though I am not sure if that’s an open- or close-minded action. I am either denied and given the response, “There isn’t any,” or I am sent links to videos, which I watch, website articles, which I read, and lectures, to which I listen, and discover that not one of them is without falsehoods or straw-man arguments.

I offer documentation that negates a liberal idea and am labeled archaic, narrow-minded, and hateful.

Hateful.

This situation has occurred many times, with many friends, family, and acquaintances, over many topics such as homosexuality, prenatal homicide, breastfeeding, evolution, gun laws, public education, contraception, and even discussions that compare and contrast children and pets. Yes, there are people who think that their pets are their children!

Funny that I used to be a liberal and questioned conservative values. When I did that, I was hailed by fellow liberals as a champion of the weak and a defender of those who want to live in peace and love, but I was rarely called names by conservatives. My ideas were sick, disturbing, wrong, and immoral. Every once in a while, of course, there was an angry conservative mofo who used slurs and language that one wouldn’t usually repeat in church, but it was not the usual pattern of conservatives. Most of them shook their heads, maybe thinking the same things that I think today when shaking my head to my liberal friends and kin. And that is…

YOU are the close-minded one. The documents are staring at you, waiting to be read, but you willfully ignore them. Because I love (and not hate) my neighbor, I pray for your moral clarity. I pray that you defend the defenseless and love those who hate you. I pray that you keep your mind active, not open nor closed but active. Seek and recognize the Truth, which is not full of hate; it is full of love.

Truth will win.

The school year in the county starts on Monday. We are also starting our home school lessons that day. I hear many mothers express their excitement about school’s starting back up. I’m excited about it, too. I’m teaching three grades this year. So far, I’ve spent at least 30 hours in the library or at home, scheduling, planning, organizing the hours and lessons for our three schoolers. It’s work, a chore sometimes, to put it all on paper, but it is well worth it to have these lessons planned instead of flying by the seat of my pants — or skirt.

Some mothers are actually saddened by the thought because they enjoy the easygoing that pairs with summer. I can’t understand that. All this laid back, no schedule routine makes me nervous. The children get so hyped up on each other. Schooling gives them structure and makes them more rational.

But then there are mothers who are excited about their children’s going back to school because they get more time for themselves. I can understand that. But I can’t believe that there are mothers (and fathers) who use the time that their children are in school, day in, day out, for selfish indulgences. Sure, a cup of coffee while reading a pointless magazine once in a while is good for relaxing, but every morning? Hey, if they earned the privilege, they earned it, but does that mean it’s right?

“I can’t wait to send them out the door.”
“Wait until your children are this age. You will want to get rid of them.”
“You have to have time for yourself. I’d go crazy.”

I’ve been told these lines from various mothers about their children in front of their own children!

The feminist movement hasn’t helped the cause much. Mothers with school age children have grown up with feminist ideals, that they can do what they want, that they can have marriage, children, and careers, that they SHOULD be pursuing their interests.

I’ve learned that the greatest common factor between these mothers is that their children do not respect them. Who would want to respect a person with the attitude of “I can’t wait to get rid of you”? They do not teach their children to respect and honor them; instead, they teach them that the children can behave in inappropriate ways and get rewarded… by continuing to see their friends, play video games, talk on the phone, and participate in sports. I can understand that in a way because, let’s face it, what mother wants to hang out with her disrespectful, disobedient, nasty little child?

It’s easier to send him away!

Not that I have all the answers in child-rearing but I do have a good time conversing with my children, singing songs while we do our housework and chores, planning our family’s Hallowe’en costumes, and teaching them what I know. I know of a great source, however, that does have very good answers to life’s persistent questions, that does offer great wisdom when it comes to familial and societal relationships.

Our children are not perfect as we are not, and sometimes, yes, we can all be as painful as donkey kicks to each other. But we all understand the posted rules, and we all know when we’ve done wrong. If a mother does not reprimand her son, he will not know that he’s done wrong. If a father teaches his daughter the right path, she follow it and know when she’s veered from it. There is a protection that a young child feels when he knows his boundaries.

“That’s just how he is,” would respond a parent when his grade schooler does wrong. Wrong! That is just how you made him! YOU trained him. YOU allowed him. YOU encouraged him. If you don’t like him, it’s YOUR fault.

FIX him.
Do it now while there is still time because children do not rear themselves. He will shame you just as he has when you justified his actions with, “That’s just how he is.”

It’s like making sausage: Everybody loves sausage. Everybody loves a polite child. Nobody wants to make sausage because it’s gross. Nobody wants to reprimand the child because it’s painful… as a parent, it’s not fun to yell, to punish, to ground, to be consistent, to follow through with said threats (“I’m taking away your really awesome shoes that all your friends like”). It really is easier to let him be, to send him to his room and let him rear himself.

So basically, train your children in the way they should go, and you’ll end up having a good time together and getting along. They’ll respect you, and you’ll like them. Summertime will be enjoyable for the family.

For more information on child rearing, family relationships, sound business practices, and overall wisdom, please locate your nearest Bible, turn to the book of Proverbs (it’s kind of right in the middle), and begin reading, or you can find Proverbs online here.

A Father’s Instruction is among my favorites.

From Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, 1933: “tolerance – The action or practice of enduring or sustaining pain or hardship.”
It mentions sustaining, allowing, bearing, and enduring pain, hardships, sentiments, and principles.

I would say that I’m a fairly tolerant person, being that I don’t knock people out of the doorway or smack children who talk back to their parents. I’d really like to, but, see, I have to “tolerate” rude people.

Because it is not “right” to want the eradication of perverts, I also have to “tolerate” homosexuality, which I do peacefully.

Except on my blog.

If we got rid of all the gay, bisexual, lesbian, transgender, and perverted people including pedophiles and gay activists, Planet Earth would be a much, MUCH nicer place, and all we’d have to worry about is the rude people, which I can tolerate more easily.

What’s stopping me from my happiness is your perverseness. I wish it would go away. You, as a person in general, are probably among the sweetest, most polite people, but because you have a seed of disease living inside of you, you make me sick to me stomach. Just as my “traditional values” impede on your “happiness,” albeit it is a sick happiness.

My problem really isn’t with the homosexuals themselves. It is the activists, champions, and lemmings who claim that a homosexual’s “happiness” is what counts. “I have family and friends who are gay, and I am proud to call them family and friends.” That’s too bad. I would get away from your gay family and friends if I were you, especially if rearing children. All children deserve to grow up in a safe, prudent, traditional world, the world that our grandparents inherited.

Believe this: My conservative, traditional foundation is not tolerant and will pacify your progressive, liberal disease, and I am proud of that.

Now that is something to smile about.

Ty and Kyle played a recital this weekend. They had prepared and memorized their pieces. They both played them inside-out and upside down, non-stop for three months. The week of the recital, Dad and I were both pretty tired of hearing them! On Mother’s Day, their maternal grandfather came over, and we had a practice recital for the boys. They played perfectly. The following Saturday was the day of the recital, and the boys both played with confidence, though not entirely flawlessly, but it was spectacular nonetheless!

After my five students played or sang, the next teacher began introducing her students. Her last student was special. She was a bit older than most of the elementary and middle school aged students. She sang “On My Own,” from Les Misérables, which, for those who are unfamiliar with the song or musical, is sung by the character Éponine who is in love with Marius but Marius loves Cosette. Éponine is shot by the government soon after and dies. It’s heartbreaking. Anyway, this young lady at the recital begins her song, and I was really impressed by the emotion, the Romantic passion. She didn’t even seem nervous.

The audience was starting to get restless being that it was the end of the set, which was an hour long. There was a woman by the exit door with an 18-month old boy. He was also getting restless, so he wandered out of her lap, jiggling his crinkly toy. Dad and I both saw the woman walk to some friends and have conversation in the middle of a performance! Dear Husband became extremely irked at the woman in conversation for three reasons: First, when listening to someone singing, you should just be quiet. If you’re not interested, there are other people who are interested; that is why they are there. I understand an 18-month old’s being bored or wanting to go to his big sister after her performance. Offering a crinkly, jingling toy is not the solution. Second, the performer is looking at the audience, so the audience should not move around. When listening to a pianist, the pianist is busy looking at his fingers and listening to his tune. Moving around creates a distracting shuffle. For a singer, moving around displays boredom, and it’s rude to make a singer think that she’s boring! Third and most important, the performer was special.

One doesn’t need a trained eye to notice this in her eyes, in her smile, in her gait, in her voice. She’s special in ways that makes one wonder if she has help, yet she clearly not only has help but has privilege. Heaven knows if this she truly understood what she was singing, but she sang as though she wrote the lyrics herself, with a deluge of genuine feeling, perhaps having experienced a kind of secret love, being old enough to be interested in young men. It was poetic and beautiful.

I used to wonder why God made special people. What was their purpose? Why would God create a being that required so much help, that needed more resources than normal people, burdening normal society? Why do we have to call them “special”? Are “Mongolic” or “retarded” not descriptive enough? I tell you what: I learned on recital morning why God put special people on Earth. It’s not to burden society; it is to better society. We shouldn’t be forced to help special people, but we should be good enough to want to help them. As much as we’d like to, we should not stare nor ignore them. We should be polite to them and act in ways that our parents taught us. Special people were put on Earth to remind us to be on our best behavior.

Remember Who died for mankind. On Earth Day, remember Who created the Earth. The most important issue facing mankind is not the environment but salvation. Remember Who gave us both. Honor and glorify Him, not His creation.

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

We are not what one would normally label a “religious” family, although we do hold some Biblical values, believing them to be traditional American values, id est, Thou shalt not steal… you know, just be friendly to thy neighbor, that sort of thing.

The Old Testament, which isn’t regularly taught in government school, was incorporated into our curriculum because of its cultural value. We all know the story of David and Goliath. We all know that Moses came down from Mount Something with the Ten Commandments… We read about these stories in Sunday School or watched them on network television at Eastertide. When our children grow up, they are going to enjoy conversations with other grown ups, understanding their references, whether the conversations take place in a university setting or at a customer’s house after replacing the U-bend under the kitchen sink.

We can’t easily purchase a ready made curriculum, “school-in-a-box,” as some might know it. Those are, like, a thousand dollars per grade. We don’t make that kind of money. Sure, it would be worth it, so if you’re feeling generous enough to send five, please do! Because we don’t have any of those, we work with what we do have, and we have many parents giving us their children’s gently used workbooks, including math, history, English, and science.

I visit our state’s Department of Education website for counsel on each grade’s standards. By the end of first grade, each student must know how to read. The department offers recommended reading lists, but the titles are not cumplusory and can be read during American History or Earth Science lessons. (Not that I’d ever allow socialist propaganda, i.e, The Lorax, to be read by our children!)

If the purpose of education is to learn the essentials of knowledge that were discovered in the past, then the Old Testament is the place to start. I’ve already posted about the awesome stories. Pretty soon, we’re going to start reading Psalms, which everybody who doesn’t live under a rock knows that they are songs. Proverbs teach us how to be good people, remind us to just be kind.

Whether you believe that God created Creation in six days or not, the Old Testament can teach everybody how to live justly and peacefully. It gives us a common cultural ground and inspires us to gain further knowledge, arguing our points with God-given reason. Unfortunately, it is not on the state’s recommended reading list.

I can see how there may be some confusion from readers who know me and may not know Dad. I am a descendant of Spaniards, Italians, and pre-Colombian Americans. More than likely, there are Asians and Jews in the mix. Dad is German, Irish, and Heaven only knows what else as his father was adopted by a family in the Midwest. But we cannot teach our children only one culture as there are more than a dozen tribes, nations, clans, and tongues in our family’s melting pot.

What we can do, however, is teach them the American ways of Christianity and English. Beowulf, one of the oldest transcriptions of English, is a legend (a cultural thing) that comes not from England but from Scandinavia, opening vast and rich horizon of Norse mythology. A Bachelor of English Literature once told me, “Beowulf does not stand alone.” He was correct.

If you do not like that I claim Western and Northern Europe as an important part of our family’s culture, then blame my parents. They are the ones who gave my brothers and me the blessings of God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit, took my brothers and me to Mass and Sunday School, and introduced the Catechism. They are the ones who made my brothers and me take piano lessons, who continued to pay for piano lessons, who let me be persuaded to believe that Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, and Brahms were important figures in music, the thing I loved. These men were, gasp!, German-speaking Christian people! I learned from them.

If you speak English, then Beowulf, King Arthur, Thor, Odin, Frigg, Tyr are ALL a part of your tongue. If you like classical music or even pretend not to like it, then the Rossini’s William Tell Overture and Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries are a part of your culture. If you don’t believe me, look it up. I already did my research.

If you want to enjoy wonderful literature by C.S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien for its subtleties in language, then you must acquaint yourself with Celtic places and figures, id est, Cú Chulainn.

And really, if you do want to make a comment about our children, come knocking on our door and say it in person. You’re awfully big behind your typing keyboard. Come show us how big you are in real life. That may mean you’d have to put on shoes. Everybody knows that real Indians don’t wear shoes.

If we are to deconstruct the accomplishments of Christopher Columbus down to where and how he took care of his sword and shovel, then we must do the same for every individual. If we do that, no one is going to be celebrated, for we will always pour over a fault. No one’s accomplishments will be acknowledged. In the end, there will be the deconstruction of Man.

Columbus, indeed, was not the first person nor the first European to see America, but he certainly was the first to open new routes to and from Europe and America. If not Columbus, then others shortly would have: Europe was interested in new routes for either war or trade. Factually, it was Columbus. He taught other voyagers how to navigate to the Americas, what it would cost, the amount of food, ammunition, and men to bring, and what the dangers were so that they could return to Europe safely. He was the first to expose the facts of this hemisphere to western European civilization.

Pre-Columbian American people were nomadic, with no wheel, no written language, and little growth. War between nations was ongoing, brutal, and bloody. They were not interested in peace, trading, nor human rights. Marjory Stoneman Douglas, author of The Everglades: River of Grass, writes about a Catholic priest who was taken prisoner then disgustingly killed by the indigenous people.

Today’s “political correctness” has one goal: To deny the importance of western civilization. The followers of this movement use the term “Euro-centrism” to disgrace the values of the West.

What are the values of the West?

Reason.
Faith.
Philosophy.
Science.
Ambition.
Productivity.

The West values all individuals by each of their accomplishments. One’s race nor ancestors’ lineage is not the definition of an individual. Politically correct, anti-Columbus groups put an emphasis on blood heritage. They infiltrate our schools and universities to teach that multiculturalism is the medicine for racism, moreover encouraging us to define ourselves by our ethnic identities, and further stimulating the division between ethnic groups and races.

One individual, with his western values, made America better. For that, he will be celebrated. He certainly will be celebrated on Columbus Day 2011 in our home.

When I was a single, I had so much money, I never thought twice about giving to beggars, dropping a few dollars in the Ronald McDonald donation box, or paying an extra ten dollars on my grocery bill for the March of Dimes. I did it mainly for selfish reasons because it felt good to give. The feeling would last a total of four seconds, then fade. A week after we became parents, Dad was laid off, so we became poor. Really fast. We weren’t entitled to unemployment nor post-partum benefits due to our being independent contractors, so we played the hand that we were dealt.

We became a family of four… then a family of five… then a family of seven…

On our journey together, we struggled to make ends meet. And we’re still struggling to make ends meet. I won’t blame “the economy” because this economy still has its share of rich people who will hire me. Poor people don’t hire people. Poor people do their own work, mow their own yards, clean their own homes, wash their own laundry. Poor people do not hire another to teach their children what they know.

It seems, however, to be the the “poor” people who drive newer vehicles than the one we drive. “Poor” people wear jewelry and new clothes, have their nails and hair done, and still have the resources required to enroll their children in team sports. We Sleppys are poorer than that. We Sleppys don’t even have a washer and dryer. We Sleppys teach our children our own skills and keep our younger ones at home because music lessons, private school, and day care would add up to more than our household income.

I don’t give as much as I did when I was single, but I don’t feel guilty. I contribute to my community in other ways, perhaps in ways not as obvious as giving money.

We have a butterfly garden. Many butterflies visit our garden. Our neighbors think they are weeds and don’t appreciate the plants themselves but do comment on the abundance of butterflies in our yard. I’ve grown to love our milkweed plants because they are the sole food of the monarch butterfly. There was one spring when our resident monarch laid her eggs aplenty under the leaves of our milkweeds. We had many caterpillars’ eating the leaves clean, leaving only stems. About eight caterpillars (of which we know) made it to pupal and later adult stage. A few months later, another cycle began. This time, we had a family of Northern cardinals that made their nest in our backyard. We saw the butterflies’ laying eggs and caterpillars’ munching on the leaves. We also saw the male cardinal picking off the caterpillars and feeding them to his chicks.

Consider the cardinals: they neither make goods nor offer services; which neither have house nor van; and God feeds them. Both chicks grew old enough to leave the nest of their two parents. They grew strong and learned to fly on the energy of the milkweed.

Last night, on my way to the grocery store, I was stopped at a red light. A man in a wheelchair sat in the crosswalk, looked at me with sad puppy eyes. He pushed himself with his feet over to my van, when I noticed that he had a prosthesis that started at his right elbow and a grabber/claw thing for a hand. I shook my head. He leaned his head to the left and saddened his eyes.

Seriously. He not only was begging for money, but he was begging. I felt that I was being harassed. I thought he could go to the vehicle behind me. I figured that he is quite accustomed to being rejected and has learned that there are drivers and passengers who are waiting to give him cash. Then it occurred to me that he thought I was being cheap. I mean, here I am, sitting in my comfortable van while he has only one hand. I said, “Sorry, man. I have five kids.”

This must have pushed a button. “Oh, really? You want some money?” He started digging in his plastic container.

“No, man, I don’t. Keep your money.”

And he THREW a wadded dollar bill into the van. It landed in the pocket door next to the speaker. He strolled down to the next vehicle, yelling, “Fu*k you!”

So I was stuck with this cursed dollar.

I kept it in my hand, thinking that I’d give it to a beggar, but there wasn’t one in front of the store that evening. As I went back to the van, I still had it in my hand and let it drop to the ground as I climbed in.

Poor people can’t give. And God provides. So why do I feel like some jerk spit in my face?